


Quitter le Nid

by darkbluebox



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD, Post-Canon, Trauma and recovery, one day I will give Kevin a break but today is not that day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:07:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24355564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkbluebox/pseuds/darkbluebox
Summary: Tumblr prompt: [Kevin visiting the nest (post Riko's death) to recover some of his old things that he'd left behind... And recovering some old memories too...]The nest is smaller than Kevin remembers. Darker, too. How did he ever live without windows? The outside world seems so distant down here, grass clippings and breezy mornings and grey skies no more than flickering, fading dreams. The black décor is blacker, somehow, walls and ceilings crushing down on him. He can feel the weight of the stadium overhead like a physical ache. Nobody will be playing on it, not today, but still he swears he can hear the phantom clatter of footsteps and racquets echoing through the hallways.Riko Moriyama is dead. Kevin knows it, the Ravens know it, the Foxes know it, and in a matter of hours, the papers will know it too. But down in the nest, which hasn’t changed in any perceivable way in the years since Kevin lived there, the line between past and present is a blurry, temperamental distinction.
Relationships: Kevin Day & David Wymack, Kevin Day & Jean Moreau, Kevin Day & Riko Moriyama, Kevin Day & The Foxes (All For The Game), Kevin Day & The Ravens (All for the Game)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 73





	Quitter le Nid

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous Tumblr prompt: "Imagining Kevin visiting the nest (post Riko's death) to recover some of his old things that he'd left behind... And recovering some old memories too..."
> 
> Title is a French idiom, "to leave the nest."
> 
> Content warnings: references to physical/mental/emotional/psychological abuse, torture, implied antisemitism, suicidal intention, panic attacks, PTSD.

The nest is smaller than Kevin remembers. Darker, too. How did he ever live without windows? The outside world seems so distant down here, grass clippings and breezy mornings and grey skies no more than a flickering, fading dreams. The black décor is blacker, somehow, walls and ceilings crushing down on him. He can feel the weight of the stadium overhead like a physical ache. Nobody will be playing on it, not today, but still he swears he can hear the phantom clatter of footsteps and racquets echoing through the hallways.

Riko Moriyama is dead. Kevin knows it, the Ravens know it, the Foxes know it, and in a matter of hours, the papers will know it too. But down in the nest, which hasn’t changed in any perceivable way in the years since Kevin lived there, the line between past and present is a blurry, temperamental distinction. Kevin never went anywhere in the nest without Riko at his shoulder – although hindsight tells him that it was more like the other way around. Riko went, Kevin followed, like a well-trained dog who knew when to heel. Kevin can see the permanent after-image of Riko’s presence in his peripheral vision, a mocking flash of red and black that vanishes the moment he turns his head.

The hand that lands on his shoulder nearly shocks Kevin’s heart to a standstill. It’s Wymack, shaking Kevin gently from his spiral with poorly veiled concern. He sent the rest of the Foxes ahead with Abby under a pretext of allowing Kevin some time to collect his things, but in truth Wymack wanted to put some space between Kevin and the rest of the team. The Foxes had no sympathy for Kevin’s reaction to the news, having suffered so heavily by Riko’s hand that they could only react with joy to the news of his passing. The black, empty hole that has torn itself open in the pit of Kevin’s stomach is an affront to them, to all that they have witnessed and survived. They can’t understand, nor do they want to. His pain is an insult to everything they stand for.

Even Kevin doesn’t understand why he feels the way he does. Riko was his brother, his owner, his tormentor, his torturer, and it should have been clear the day that he switched from being one to the next. But it wasn’t, and it was no easier for Kevin to mould his feelings in accordance. Now Riko is nothing. That is what Kevin should feel. Nothing.

He can’t.

Wymack shakes his shoulder again, and Kevin forceses himself to step deeper into the nest as though it’s an act of surrender. The smell of floor polish and gym floors is achingly familiar, hanging in the stale air like fog. It clung to his clothes for months after he left the nest like a chainmail suit weighing him down, a constant reminder of the world he belonged to. Kevin aches to jump into a shower and scrub the stench away, but the closest showers are another pit of memories he doesn’t need to plunge into, filled with blood and screams and laughter bouncing off the sleek black tiles. The laughter was always the worst.

The away team showers were traumatic enough, even while riding the triumph of the Foxes’ victory. When the steam fogged up the mirrors outside the stalls, it revealed a kanji message drawn in the steam by a dead man. _Raven, forever._ Riko could never have imagined the circumstances under which Kevin would receive his message, but it did little to ease the sucker-punch reaction of seeing Riko’s final attempt to claim him. Kevin had nearly thrown up, rushing to wipe the characters away before any of the other Foxes left their stalls and asked what they meant. He half-wishes he had put his aching hand through the mirror and finished with it altogether.

Kevin and Wymack pass through the rec-room, where pool tables and wide-screen TVs lie collecting dust. The Ravens had been evacuated to normal student dorms in the wake of Jean’s not-so-mysterious disappearance, but Kevin doubts the amenities had seen much use even before they left. As Riko’s panic and fury ramped up in the weeks leading up to the match, the Raven’s regime would have become untenable. He would have driven them to the ground until they could barely stand after practice, let alone play pool. The Foxes say Kevin is a fanatic, but only because they have never seen the true, unyielding face of obsession in all its repugnant glory. They haven’t been broken in and run to the ground over and over to get the results required of them. Kevin hopes they never have to know.

Their room is jarring for all that has been left untouched. No, not “theirs,” not then and not now. _His_ room. Singular pronouns are still difficult, even after all this time.

Wymack drops the empty cardboard box on Kevin’s old bed and scans the room with his hands on his hips. Kevin can tell from the downwards tug of his lips that he isn’t impressed, but Wymack manages to keep his opinions to himself. “Tell me what you want keeping and I can get it packed up for you. Don’t stay down here if it means popping a blood vessel.”

“I can handle it,” Kevin says brusquely, perhaps over-compensating for his anxiety a little harder than he needs to. “Give me a minute.” He slides a finger along the length of his books, still organised by publication date. Most of them are antique, first-edition, extravagant gifts bought with Moriyama wealth to impress Kevin. He recognises the gifts now for what they were: an excuse to guilt Kevin, to drag him into an endless cycle of debt and obligation that Tetsuji and Riko could twist into submission. The association is as heavy as it is panful, but Kevin is determined to reclaim his passion as his own, as he did with Exy. He scoops the first stack of books into his arms and hands them to Wymack. “Gently, please.”

Wymack rolls his eyes as he places them into the box. Kevin’s love of classics is not, it transpires, hereditary.

All the clothes in Kevin’s closet are black with red accents. Kevin dumps them on the floor without ceremony. Right at the back, a dusty shoebox which Kevin pulls out with shaking hands. He isn’t sure how he feels about opening it in front of Wymack, but he wants to ensure that all is as he left it. He wouldn’t put it past Riko to have left a nasty surprise for him inside, had he found it. It was another of Riko’s psychological games – if he found something Kevin was hiding from him, he wouldn’t confront him right away. He would let it simmer, sitting on the secret until he found the worst possible time to reveal it, when Kevin’s guard was at its lowest. It became impossible to relax, as Kevin was always waiting for the other shoe to drop, to see what awful discovery Riko had made when Kevin wasn’t paying attention. His paranoia reached a point of feeling guilty even when he had nothing to hide.

Kevin kneels, pulls off the lid, and starts rifling through the photos within, mercifully undisturbed. His mother, holding him as a baby. The green and grey of the Irish countryside. Kevin’s grandparents, beaming strangers who died before Kevin was old enough to know them. Kayleigh, standing on an Exy court she practically built with her own two hands, an arm around Tetsuji’s shoulder. He studies her expression for any hint that she knew what the man at her side was capable of, and comes up empty. Kevin, a toddler, in his own tiny Exy uniform, a duplicate of his mother’s, bearing her name and number. More shots of Kayleigh training, coaching an array of teams from little leagues to pros. He stops at one, recognising the player Kayleigh is talking to. They are leaning towards each other as though sharing a private joke, matching grins and sweaty-faced from a gruelling practice.

Wymack has been pretending to look busy as Kevin flicks through the photos, studying the postcards taped to the wall. Kevin taps him on the shoulder and hands him the photo without speaking.

A flurry of emotions shakes across Wymack’s face. His eyes crinkle as he settles at last on a quiet smile. “I remember that day. We had just gotten through to play-offs. The whole team wanted to bunk off a few days and head down the coast to celebrate. Kayleigh wouldn’t hear of it.”

Kevin’s lungs burn with the strain of all the questions he’s holding in. The titbits Wymack offers him from time to time are all he has left of his mother, but he isn’t cruel enough to badger Wymack for them. He will never understand exactly what Wymack had with his mother, isn’t sure he wants to, but he can see the lasting pain written into every line of Wymack’s face. He knows better than to prod at open wounds.

Wymack offers the photo back to him. “Sound familiar?”

Kevin presses his lips together but can’t hold back his own smile. “You…you can keep that one. If you want.” He almost regrets saying it, from the way Wymack’s expression cracks.

He coughs awkwardly before replying, “you sure?”

Kevin nods. He considers offering him more, maybe one of his baby photos – that’s what parents did, right? kept baby photos? – but thinks better of it. Maybe he’ll work up the nerve to share the rest of them with Wymack sometime, but not here. Not in the Nest, where everything is darkened and tainted by exposure.

At the bottom of the box are a few silver rings and his mother’s Star of David necklace. Kevin slips it over his head, enjoying the weight of it against his skin when he slips it under his shirt. He never wore it around his nest, sure Riko would find a reason to make fun of him for it. It didn’t do to flash precious things around Riko, as they had a habit of vanishing or breaking if Kevin paid too much attention to them. Books, letters, people; anything that held Kevin’s attention too long, anything that distracted him from Riko and the game. Kevin learned to box up the things he loved and shove them in dark cupboards, both inside his head and out.

Wymack helps Kevin peel off the tape holding his postcards to the walls, evidently not caring when he pulls off a few flecks of black paint with it. “Needs a fresh paint job anyway.”

Kevin doesn’t disagree. He can’t fathom how he spent years in such darkness. His eyes hurt from squinting already.

It’s depressing, how quickly they pack Kevin’s old life into the single cardboard box they brought with them with room to spare. He left the Nest, beaten and broken, with only the clothes he stood up in. It’s only now that he realises how little he left behind him.

Before they leave, Kevin drops onto his bed and rolls to the side, shoving his hand into the space between the mattress and the wall. It’s a long shot, but –

The notes are still there. Tiny corners ripped from notebooks and passed back and forth hidden in textbooks and binders. Inconsequential titbits, mostly from Jean and Thea but a couple other Ravens who had made life bearable over the years. Constantly in Riko’s presence, it was the only way of having a private conversation without risking Riko’s ire. He glances at familiar messy scrawl, a dozen words here and there complaining about so-and-so’s behaviour at practice, or betting on the outcome of an upcoming match. Notes that were boring and forgettable, but at the same time meant everything, because they were for Kevin and Kevin alone.

He slides the scraps into his breast pocket, and reaches for the headboard to haul himself up. When he sees a distinct scuffmark worn deep into one of the posts, he’s hit with a wave of nausea so strong he nearly falls right back down again. He spent enough time around Riko to recognise evidence of handcuffs when he sees it. Never before in _his_ bed, though, and it doesn’t take long to figure out exactly who would have received the dubious honour of being cuffed in Kevin’s vacated cot.

He leans in closer and sees the brown flecks staining the wood, barely visible against the black. Bloodied sheets were easy to change. Bloodied furniture, not so much. Oh, Neil.

Kevin had spent years watching Jean being tortured to the brink of destruction, but the thought that Neil _chose_ it, walked willingly into the nest for the sake of Andrew, for the sake of all of the Foxes… Ready to throw everything away for the slim chance he had of keeping them.

Even now, Kevin doesn’t know whether to call him brave or stupid. But maybe, at last, he knows just as Neil did that the Foxes are worth it. Worth every cut and bruise and scream.

Kevin hauls himself off the bed as quickly as he can, as though it has turned to fire beneath him. Wymack can see the way he has suddenly blanched, but mercifully remains quiet, offering only a steadying hand on his shoulder as they head for the door.

It is a weight off Kevin’s chest to leave his old room behind him, but his work isn’t yet done. He promised Jean he would take care of his things while he was there. Returning to the Nest may be difficult for Kevin, but it would be outright cruelty to subject Jean to the same fate.

If Kevin’s room was bleak, then Jean’s is downright depressing. He subscribed to Kevin’s minimalist approach – Riko was even less discerning when it came to destroying Jean’s possessions – and Jean’s desk is so depersonalised it could have appeared in a stock image for a furniture store.

Kevin can’t fathom why Jean wanted his dime-a-dozen linguistic textbooks until he picks one up by the spine and a postcard flutters from the pages. It lands picture-up, showing a sparkling blue port surrounded by dusty yellow battlements, _Marseille avec amour_ written around the border in curly blue cursive. Kevin is careful not to turn it over as he slips it back between the pages of the book.

After the textbooks are a few dusty, yellow French novels that were likely assigned reading for one class or another. Slipped between them so as not to arouse suspicion is a well-worn copy of _Le Petit Prince_ with Jean’s name on the inside cover in shaky, infantile handwriting.

At the end of Jean’s bookshelf, crushed against the wall is one of Kevin’s books, a slim, unremarkable piece on Celtic royalty that Kevin never noticed was missing from his collection. Kevin picks it up, wondering what on earth could have possessed Jean to borrow it. The pages are too thick, the cover not closing quite right. He flicks the book open and sees why – there’s an envelope inside with Kevin’s name on it. The ink is faded, at least a couple years old. Kevin wonders when Jean wrote this, if Jean even remembers leaving it for him.

Wymack sends him a puzzled look, watching from the doorway as Kevin sinks to the floor and slices the envelope open.

_Cher Kevin. Si tu es en train de lire cette lettre, je dois être mort._

_Dear Kevin. If you are reading this letter, I must be dead._

The bottom of Kevin’s stomach drops out as he realises that he is reading what is, in essence, Jean’s suicide note.

Not that he calls it as such – perhaps leaving open the possibility that Riko would one day snap and put Jean out of his misery for him – but it’s clear from Jean’s tone that he suspects that his end will most likely come at his own hand. He asks Kevin to get a message to his little sister – something apologetic, something consoling, any pretty lie Kevin can invent to soothe the loss of the brother she hasn’t seen in years. He apologises to Kevin, profusely, so many times that Kevin may well be sick. Apologises for being to weak, for all that Kevin has born witness to, for leaving Kevin to face the endless cruelty of the Nest alone. As though any of it was his fault.

Kevin finishes the letter and tears it up. As soon as he is out of here, he will call Jean. Not to confront him about the note, which Jean has likely forgotten writing, but for reassurance. Jean is living, Jean is breathing, Jean survived. Jean never has to come back here again. Kevin wonders if this burning determination is what Neil and Andrew felt every time they looked at him – the drive to keep a broken Raven from flying back to the home that broke him. He wonders if the other Foxes see Kevin as fractured and as desperate as they see Jean.

Kevin is careful not to look at the headboard as he levers himself up again. He has seen those cuff marks already, was there when they were made. Stood by, hopeless and helpless as Jean was torn apart again and again and again.

Self-hatred sears through his veins, white-hot, melting him to the spot. Not because he could have done something – any objection from Kevin would have prolonged the torture as Riko took delight in Kevin’s distress, and Jean would have hated him for it – but because he dared to wallow in his own misery and fear of the Nest when it could have been so, so much worse. Kevin was Riko’s special pet, pampered and protected and praised – as long as he didn’t stray from Riko’s shadow. It was only then that the mutilation began, and the line between pet and possession was crossed. Bent. Broken, irreparably. 

Kevin’s breathing must be noticeably hitching, because it’s then that Wymack steps into the room. “Hey. Do you need to…” He trails off with a wince. Kevin looks at him blankly, no more able to find an end to the sentence than Wymack is. Wymack shakes his head. “Come on. We’re done here.”

The corridors seem to stretch like an optical illusion, and with every step Kevin feels like their pace is slowing, like he’s trapped in a nightmare and his every movement feels like wading through treacle. Maybe he’ll be lucky and live long enough to look back on his time here as one long, dark nightmare. Maybe he’ll live long enough to forget it altogether.

The door to the locker room is on their way to the exit. Kevin grinds to a halt in front of it, his feet rebelling against his mind’s instructions.

“Don’t tell me you left something in there,” Wymack says, shifting the box of Kevin’s things from one arm to the other.

“No.” Kevin takes a deep breath, trying to remember the grounding exercises Bee taught him. They were designed to pull him out of his flashbacks, to remind him that he wasn’t in the Nest anymore. But how can they work when he _is_ in the Nest? “Can I go in anyway?”

Wymack fixes him with a long, long look. “Will this end with me scraping you up off the floor?”

Kevin doesn’t answer immediately, which does nothing to ease Wymack’s concern. “I’ve spent so long learning to stand up for myself. If I don’t face this now, then I never will.”

Wymack clenches his jaw, but nods. “I’ll be right outside.” The weight of his tone suggests that he has some idea of the memory Kevin is about to face. “Shout if you need me. Or whimper. Any noise, really.”

Kevin pushes the door open and steps inside before he can change his mind. Even the pompous, resplendent Nest isn’t safe from adolescent-boy stink; Kevin wrinkles his nose as he steps inside, the overpowering musk of Axe deodorant making his nose itch. The Ravens were as hive-minded in their brand loyalty as they were in every other aspect of live, and as Axe was an official sponsor, turning to any other brand was unthinkable. Kevin remembers standing in a supermarket aisle after leaving the nest, staring at shelf upon shelf of product after product and internally combusting from the endless decisions that were no longer dictated to him. Was 24h better than 42h, or was it the other way around? Would the name-brand food be more nutritional than the store-brand, and was organic healthier than free-range? How would he know what to cook and when and how without a nutritionist on hand to plan out all his meals for him?

Andrew had laughed at him. Andrew laughed at everything, back then. Poor little Kevin, former world champion, too broken and dependent to survive even a supermarket on his own.

The memory of what Kevin was when he left is enough to drive him on, step after step, into the heart of the Nest. Full-length mirrors bounce Kevin’s reflection back at him from every angle, forcing Kevin to meet his own eyes no matter where he looks. He remembers, in those very mirrors, he and Riko examining their reflections as they painted numbers onto each other’s cheekbones in marker pen over and over and over.

When Kevin told Wymack that he hadn’t left anything in the locker room, he was lying. In the room where Riko finally, irreversibly, remorselessly destroyed Kevin’s hand and his future with it, Kevin lost something that he would never get back. Nothing so inconsequential as ability or success; something in his very soul, the final surviving slither of trust and naivety and love for his adoptive brother that would never, ever come back.

Kevin stands in the spot where Riko once stood over him, manic fury twisting his face into a triumphant leer as he forced Kevin to the ground and stamped on his hand over and over until the floor was splattered with blood and stark white bone prodded through ravaged skin. Kevin stands in the spot where he lost a part of Riko and a part of himself, and breathes.

And at last, he lets go.

Suddenly, finally, mercifully, wonderfully, he is done.

Wymack is surprised when Kevin meets him in the corridor once more, surprised by the evident relief that is tweaking Kevin’s lips into a half-smile. “Let’s get out of here. This place is grim.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” Wymack says gruffly. He slaps Kevin on the back – with each time he does so, it feels a little less forced and a little more like genuine, fatherly affection – and together they head for the exit.

“Wymack,” Kevin says as they reach the final stairwell. Kevin has faced down every demon he has today and has come out the other side victorious. He can do this. “I’m glad I left this place and I’m glad I came to you. I wish I had done so earlier. Thank you.” He swallows back a last flicker of nerves and thinks of his mother. “Thank you, Dad.”

Wymack looks like he’s about to drop the box. Kevin holds out an arm in preparation to catch it. He needn’t have worried; Wymack sets it down with the same care that he would a priceless antique before pulling Kevin into a rough embrace.

“Don’t tell the others I did that,” he says gruffly as he picks up the box once more. “They’ll say I’m playing favourites.”

“Nicky will definitely want a hug if he knows I got one.”

“Exactly.” Wymack waits as Kevin pulls the final door open. Sunlight bursts through, painting them in every shade of orange as they step into a bright, new day. “And for what it’s worth? I’m glad you came too.”

Kevin agrees. Together, they leave the Nest, and Kevin doesn’t look back.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Don't forget to check out my other fics here and [on tumblr](https://darkblueboxs.tumblr.com) and [twitter.](https://twitter.com/darkblueboxs)
> 
> Please drop a comment if you enjoyed, your feedback means the world to me <3


End file.
